Quandary
by pr0nz69
Summary: [Black Haze] They like to tell him he deserves this, because he's a dirty child and he doesn't deserve to be here, or alive, and it probably makes them feel better about torturing him, their half-brother. [Kiel-centric] [chapter 125 spoilers] [mature content]


Written by pr0nz69's little sister (don't we have the classiest username?).

There is officially not enough love for this webtoon, which means there is officially not enough porn for it. So I thought I'd try to fix that. Actually, this was also a self-imposed challenge to try writing a scenario in which a person with actively sadistic thoughts and fantasies is forced into a position of extreme submission (since those were definitely the vibes I was getting from the relevant chapters). Plus, I've learned that there's never enough Kiel whump. The siblings and step-mother are unnamed because Kiel is dissociating himself from them (that's my excuse).

 **Spoilers for:** Black Haze (up to chapter 125)

 **Characters:** Kielnode Chrishi/Master, assorted evil siblings and step-mother

 **Content Warning:** noncon, sexual abuse, violence, humiliation, forced feminization

* * *

"Hey, put him in one of your old dresses!" the boy suggests. "Oh"–with a snicker–"and panties – give him a pair you don't want anymore!"

"You're crazy!" the girl says, laughing. "This ugly bastard in _my_ clothes?"

"It's for charity!" the boy returns. "'Cause the bastard doesn't have anything even _half_ as decent as your rattiest dress!"

"You're so gross!" the girl exclaims, still giggling. "You want to see _him_ in a _dress_?"

"It suits him, doesn't it?" the boy points out. "He's already got long hair like a girl!"

"True, true!" the girl concedes, and then: "Fine. I'll go get one – don't let him go!"

She's so free she skips when she leaves. Kiel watches her go, not with envy because he won't give them that, but with disdain, mostly, and a little bit of yearning – because he's trying to hold that back, too. His legs are shaking too much to run anyway, even before the boy comes to sit on them to make sure he can't get up. They're sixteen, the two of them, but this boy's still doing things like this, like a child.

He's on his stomach, stretched over the cool stone of the basement floor, pressed against it now by the boy's extra weight on him. He's already been locked up for a few hours, as "punishment" for something he did – they were vague about it, like always – but not five minutes ago, the boy and girl were driven down here by their boredom, and both he and she took their turns beating him. First, the boy held his arms while the girl slapped and pinched his face. Then they laid him out on the floor, and the girl sat on the small of his back while the boy kicked his head and sides and stomped on his fingers. And when they tired of that game, they discarded him for the moment, like she always used to do as a little kid with her beaten up dolls, and fought each other trying to decide what to do to him next.

When the girl comes back, she's holding a dress Kiel recognizes from not even a month ago. It's white and red and layered like a cake, with lace at the cuffs and ribbon at the neck and frills and bows all along the bodice and skirt. She drops it in front of him and then kneels so she can start tugging off his shirt. He puts up a small fight, but nothing will come of it, and he knows he should just let it happen and be done with it. They might even let him back upstairs after this. It's cold in the basement, and he's hungry and has to pee.

The girl is fourteen and slender, and though Kiel is tall and slight himself, he won't fit comfortably into that dress. She fusses with it, trying to tug it down around his broadening shoulders, but even once she manages that, it's still tight and stiff around his armpits. She likes short dresses, too, and this one barely covers his bottom once she's got it all the way on.

"Hold him up," she orders her brother, and Kiel feels himself lifted under the arms until he's back on his feet, though unsteady. The girl starts to undo his pants, and this time, he really _does_ struggle because this is wrong and indecent, and she's going to see him _naked_.

"Quit squirming, idiot!" she growls, pinching his bare stomach under the dress. She manages to get his pants down around his ankles, and then she reaches underneath the dress again and hooks her fingers into his boxers.

"Stop!" he cries. He kicks out and strikes her kneecap, but she's already got his underwear down over his thighs, and he's completely exposed.

"Don't touch my sister, dirty bastard!" the boy shouts, kneeing him in the back as the girl slaps his face.

"You need to learn some manners!" she snaps, finishing what she started and yanking his boxers down and off. The hem of the dress doesn't fully cover his front, and he feels his cheeks blaze red. She stares for several moments as if transfixed by him – it's probably her first time seeing a boy like this, besides her brother when they were kids – then hastily produces from her dress pocket a pair of silky, rose-colored panties.

The boy's grip on him tightens, but he doesn't fight it this time because even girls' underwear, humiliating though it is, will cover his nakedness. He hates the feeling of the girl's hands as they slide up his legs, settling the panties around his hips, the silk soft and foreign against his skin.

"They're tight," she muses, pulling back the waistband and letting it snap against his pelvis. "Because of this ugly thing."

He isn't expecting it and yelps when she fits her hand between his legs and squeezes him. Even then, she doesn't let go, and he panics when he realizes he's become aroused against his will.

"Oh my god," she says, part in wonder and part in disgust. "Why's it doing that?"

The boy leans over his shoulder to look and then gasps when he sees what she's seen. "You're too young for that!" he cries, letting Kiel go so he can rush to stand between them.

"He's hard," the girl responds, matter-of-factly, though she looks rather taken aback herself. "I'm not stupid. I've just never seen it in person before."

Now that his hands are free, Kiel shoves the boy, sending him staggering into the wall. He doesn't care that he's dressed like this. He doesn't even care that he's aroused, just so long as he can get away before anyone else can see. He dashes toward the stairs, bare feet numb and clumsy from the cold, and he almost makes it to the first step when the girl's hand catches hold of the skirt of the dress and drags him back. Tears sting at his eyes; he tries to blink them away as he's slammed back against the wall.

"Disgusting pervert!" the boy sneers, hitting him in the mouth with an open palm. "Getting hard because you're wearing women's clothes! In front of my sister, no less!"

No, Kiel thinks, beyond indignant, wired with hot anger; it wasn't the dress that did this to him. It was the girl groping him that did. It's hardly less shameful to admit that, so he doesn't, just keeps his mouth shut. He's learned by now that's the best way to end things quickly.

But even given his present condition, the two don't seem to want to let him go.

"Pull down his panties," the girl says, shamelessly. "I want to see it."

"You're too young!" the boy repeats, lifting one hand to roughly push her so that she stumbles, nearly toppling over. " _I'll_ jerk him off, so you better stand over in that corner with your eyes shut!"

"What – no fair!" she cries. "I hate you!" But she stomps and huffs her way to the directed corner anyway, rolling her eyes several times before finally closing them.

"Don't touch me!" Kiel growls as the boy moves his hand toward his crotch. The boy pauses, then grins.

"If you don't let me do it now," he says, disgustingly urbane, "then we can bring you like this to your mother and do it in front of her. Then she can see what a perverted whore you are, getting turned on by a little girl's panties and dressy."

Kiel's face is hot, with anger or humiliation or – probably – _both_. He lunges forward, seeing only the stairs ahead of him, but the boy has an even stronger grip on him than he's expecting, and he drags him back and jams his leg between both of his.

"Of course," the boy smirks, lifting his knee higher into his crotch to further aggravate the swelling there, "your mother is already quite familiar with whores herself, isn't she?"

"I-I'll _kill_ you," Kiel spits out, before he can stop himself, and the boy, still smiling, draws back his fist and smashes him across the jaw.

"We'll see," he says, and then he takes up the waistband of the panties between two fingers and gingerly pulls them down around his front.

Kiel clenches his fists. He wants to hurt this boy, _badly_. He wants to _kill_ him. He thinks he would if he could, if he could get away with it. They would hang him if he did it, killed a noble, but it would _almost_ be worth it.

But the boy has his hand around his penis now, and it's too precarious to risk anything. Besides that, he doesn't _want_ to die, not for someone like _him_. The boy grips him harder, and he gasps at how sudden it is, and how tender and hot he is there. He whimpers without wanting to as the boy jerks him, not with any care given to his comfort, almost even violently. The basest part of him is thrilled by the rough pleasure the motions bring him, but no part of him _enjoys_ it – that's what he tells himself, to preserve at least _some_ of his dignity. Before he realizes it, he's crying – angry, burning tears – and then he shudders through his release. He doesn't last long, _never_ does – he's not experienced enough, probably. This time, it's even painful, or at least it feels like it is – he can't tell anymore what's meant to be pain and what's meant to be pleasure. It's _always_ embarrassing, though, no matter how many times he thinks he's gotten over it. He doesn't even touch himself anymore because he can't enjoy it, and it just feels dirty now anyway.

"Aww, you've stained your nice panties," the boy says with a laugh, pulling them back up over his wet penis. Kiel slumps in his grip, doesn't even resist when the boy wipes his seed over his cheek and neck, kneading it in with his knuckles. "Look what a gross mess you've made!"

There's a giggle, and Kiel blinks to clear his eyes of tears and sees the girl standing and watching, and he realizes then that she's lied, that she's seen the whole thing. The boy realizes it, too, and he stomps over to her, yelling and swearing and pulling her hair while she shrieks and slaps him back.

Kiel slides down the wall, onto his backside. The panties are too small and bunch up under him, and he tries to ignore it but can't. He feels defiled, violated, and the tiny spark of resistance he once carried within him has all but tapered out. Let them do whatever they want to him now, he thinks. He has no pride left for them to mangle anyway.

"Get up, bastard," the boy says, marching purposefully over. The girl is trailing behind him looking sullen, hair disheveled, a red mark on her cheek from where her brother struck her. Ignoring her, the boy crouches over him. "What, you think you're just going to take a nap now that you've had your fun? I said, get up! _You're_ going to do _our_ chores!"

He grabs at the collar of the dress, and Kiel scrambles to his feet so he won't be choked by it. The panties are damp from him; he can feel it when he moves his legs. He's sure the wetness is showing through the front and that they can see it, but even when he tugs on the dress, he can't get it to go down any further, and besides, it's already tight enough on his chest and arms.

"Go on," the boy says, pushing him toward the stairs, and Kiel falters. If the woman sees him like this – if she sees him in one of the girl's dresses, and in her panties, and _wet_ – she'll kill him – _really_ kill him. If not that, then she might have him arrested. Can one be arrested for something like this? Prison might be better than living here. Or maybe she'll just throw him out. That would be ideal, though he doesn't know how he'll ever support Mother on his own. She'd probably resort to prostitution – and maybe he would, too – and he can't even stand the thought of that.

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" the boy demands, hitting him in the back of the head. "Get going! Unless you'd rather I tie you up and drag you?"

Kiel shudders involuntarily; the girl cries, "Do it! Do it!" But he'd rather die than see her obliged again, so he walks.

The panties are so small that they ride up on him, and at the bottom of the stairs, he's sure the boy and girl have an optimal view. They wait a few moments, probably to spectate, before they follow him up, and when the girl does, she slides right up to him and slips her hand discreetly beneath the dress, rubbing and pinching his backside with her small fingers while her brother amusedly pretends not to notice. Kiel would shove her off, if not for fear of worse retribution. If she ends up at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck, he's certain he won't just be killed but tortured first, and maybe Mother will be executed with him. The woman has made such threats before; there's no doubt in his mind that she's capable of carrying them out.

At the top of the stairs, the boy opens the door, and Kiel squints under the strength of the sudden light. It was morning when he was put in here, so he's sure now it must be around mid-noon. He hasn't had anything to eat today – he was abducted on his way to breakfast, just after he'd washed up from cleaning out the stables – and his stomach has itself twisted in a knot from hunger. He's got a pretty good idea they haven't brought him up here to feed him, though, and part of him wants to cry out of sheer frustration. The thought of doing _more_ work in this state makes him feel faint.

It's a small relief when, once he can see clearly again, he finds the hallway to be abandoned of servants and company. The girl is still groping him as the boy leads them down the corridor. Kiel fantasizes, as she gets dangerously close to his entrance, about breaking her fingers, not just in half but into little pieces and then grinding those into bloody, fleshy pulp and bone dust. He wonders how loud she would scream as he bent each one back, snapping them one at a time, slowly, slowly...

The boy brings them to the bathroom, and the girl is finally forced to withdraw her hand when they step in. Kiel glances to the side, catches sight of himself in the mirror, and it makes him want to throw up. The boy busies himself mixing up a bucket of soap and water, and once he's done with that, he sets it on the floor, then hands Kiel a toothbrush – his own, he realizes, wondering why he's even surprised.

"Get scrubbing, bastard," the boy orders. "I want the floor clean enough to eat off of – and you'll be checking after with your tongue, got it?"

Kiel stares, first at the expanse of the place – it's the servants' bathroom and the biggest one in the manor – and then at his toothbrush in the boy's hand. "This is ridiculous," he mutters. "Give me a sponge, and I'll do it the right way."

Without warning, the boy throws the toothbrush down, grabs Kiel's hair, and forces him to his knees – he's surprisingly strong, from fencing and horseback riding, probably. "Who do you think you are, talking back to a noble, you dirty bastard?" he demands, pulling his hair like he did his sister's earlier. "If you think any of us want to support you and your freeloading whore mother, then you're even crazier that I thought. Now _scrub_."

Kiel doesn't even have the will to fight back anymore, just wants this to end already, and as quickly as possible. He picks up his toothbrush, dips it into the bucket, and starts to scrub at the tile, imagining he's actually peeling the skin off the boy's face, layer by greasy layer. On his knees like this, he knows he's on full display to them, panties and _everything_ , and the girl is delighted; on occasion, she runs up behind him to give his bottom a slap or a squeeze before darting back behind her brother. _He_ gives him a few kicks there as well, or slides his foot up between his legs where he knows it'll hurt the worst. He claims it's punishment for not working fast enough, though Kiel's sure he just gets off on it, maybe even more than his sister. Otherwise, he wouldn't be holding his hands so carefully in front of him like that.

The two watch him for what has to be at least half an hour, and he isn't even a third of the way across the floor yet – they keep nitpicking him, making him go back and get in between all the cracks and crevices, sometimes twice each. It's obvious they just want to keep him here, draw out his humiliation – _their_ gratification – for as long as they can. His hands and fingers and shoulders and wrists are sore from the repetitive motions of holding and scrubbing, and his knees are bruised and raw from crawling all over them across hard tile. The panties and dress feel tighter than ever; he's sure they've left marks in his skin that he'll find later when he's finally allowed back into his own clothes. He thinks, far from the first time, that this must be what Hell looks like, because he can't comprehend anything being worse than living like this. He's even starting to think it would almost be a relief for the woman to find him now because there's no way she would let this continue in her house.

But when she finally does, it's not a relief at all. The boy and girl have him with his cheek against the floor and his bottom in the air, licking at the scum between two tiles because they're pretending the toothbrush won't reach there, when she sees him. She shrieks, and then he's flat on his side because she's kicked him over, keeps kicking him even as his legs curl into his stomach like a dead bug's and his hands move to shield his face from the blows.

"Disgusting boy!" she screams, and he realizes that he's shaking now, that for the first time today, he's truly afraid. "Filthy! Vile! Reprehensible! In a dress and – and _panties_! In front of _my_ children! And – you've stolen my daughter's clothes, you depraved little wretch!" She stops kicking him only to snatch up his wrist and haul him to his feet.

"No," he protests, weakly, "I didn't –"

She isn't listening anyway; that's clear when she smashes him across the face with her other hand. It's the second time he's been hit in the mouth today, and this time, he can taste blood.

The woman pulls him along with her, back down the corridor, to the top of the basement stairs. The boy and girl are following, only halfheartedly pretending to be repulsed by him. It doesn't matter, because the woman isn't paying any attention to them, only him, and once she gets the basement door open, she gives him a shove. He's already so close to the ground, having been mostly dragged, that he doesn't even feel himself fall, just the solid impact of stone against his shoulder, then his head, as he tumbles down the stairs, landing in a tangled heap at the bottom.

"I don't know _why_ my husband puts up with you and that – that _prostitute_ ," the woman yells down at him, and he's so disoriented, he can't move, can't even speak. "You can stay down there until morning – and no meals for you!"

Kiel picks himself up, finally, and puts his hands against his throbbing head.

"And if I see you dressed like that again," the woman continues, "then you'll be sleeping in the stables from now on with the other animals – _naked_."

She slams the door shut, and he hears it lock, and he's in darkness again, except for the sliver of light squeezing beneath the door and down the stairs – and there's a little bit of blood on them. He moves his hands from his head, and they come back red and sticky, but he can't seem to find where the wound is. He has to wrap it, though, so he doesn't bleed out.

He rips the dress getting out of it and doesn't care; he holds it against his head, trying to stem the flow of blood from wherever it's coming. He takes off the panties, too, and spits on them, and then finds his own clothes, and it's such a relief to get back into them that he cries a little, soundlessly, so even he can't hear himself. He's still shivering as he sits and leans back against the wall with his makeshift bandage, still hungry and sore and feeling so dirty and _used_ that it's making him sick, though he knows it's not his fault, he didn't do anything wrong.

He looks at the door, and at the light leaking from under it, and he wonders if maybe there's some way out of here. But everything around him is invisible and unreachable in the blackness, so he wonders, what's even the point? If he reaches out his hand to check, he'll just get bitten anyway.


End file.
